


Too careful

by kakawot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always Female Dean, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Porn, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Genderbending, Genderfuck, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Non-Consensual, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, fem!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakawot/pseuds/kakawot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna has always been careful not to get pregnant. But the Host have other plans for her, and sending Castiel has failed. So it's up to another angel to continue the bloodline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Only the soft sound of the shabby motel bed creaking has any possibility of warning the woman. Although she’s usually a light sleeper, she’s in the middle of the four hours of sleep she allows herself, so she doesn’t wake. Not until it’s too late, anyway.

The man yanks on something and the ropes loosely tied around her wrists tighten, effectively binding her to the bed. This of course wakes her, and she immediately jumps into action. Or at least, she tries to, but the man leans over her and puts a large hand over her mouth to stop her cursing.

“If you wake Sam, you won’t be able to explain this to him. He’ll eject me and die,” the man warns. “So don’t scream.”

Well, Deanna can’t call the creature inside her brother’s body a man, she supposes. It‘s obvious that it’s the angel pulling the strings now, Sam’s familiar face blank and serious, like he pours over lore written in Middle English. He removes his hand and makes sure that her wrists are securely tied.

“What the hell’s your plan? If you leave him, you won’t find another willing host and, guess what, I’ll hunt you to the ends of this Earth.” Deanna’s voice is soft but so full of hate. She’s sad to say she expected a betrayal any day now, the angel’s offer had been too good, too convenient for all of them. Where he’s going by tying her to the bed, that’s something she isn’t sure about.

“You’re Michael’s vessel. Even if he’s currently… elsewhere, you’re the only bloodline we have left.”

Sam, or Ezekiel, finally displays some emotion on his face. He frowns, but much like Castiel, he manages to look constipated at the same time. If Deanna wasn’t tied down to a bed, angel knife out of reach underneath her pillow, it might’ve been funny. But she can see where this is heading, and that isn’t funny at all.

“We sent you Castiel, but you refused to reproduce with him. You’ve been too stubborn to allow yourself to settle down.”

Oh, she’s going to _kill_ the angel. Somehow, after he heals Sam from the inside and leaves his body. As if she’s going to have a child with the lifestyle she leads! The white picket fence, she has tried it. With Larry she came close, but then Sam came back from the cage and she was back on the road, maybe not happier than before, but definitely leading a more meaningful life.

Ezekiel isn’t done. “But we need to continue the bloodline. Cupids’ arrows don’t work on angels, so you’ve driven us to do this. Keep that in mind.”

His blank face is terrible to look at, knowing that Sam is peacefully sleeping somewhere inside. Or maybe subdued and able to look, much like demon possession. Maybe he thinks that this is just a weird dream. She really, really hopes that, because this… will break him.

Ezekiel’s eyes glows that unnatural blue before he tears the blanket from her body, exposing the fact that she is still completely clothed underneath. She had just crawled under the covers and went to sleep last night, barely bothering to kick off her boots.

“While you’re trying to impregnate me,” she says with the same hateful, soft tone in her voice, “what makes you think I won’t abort the child?”

That gives the angel pause. It’s likely he (or his superior) never bothered to find out about the options available to modern women, or were simply unaware of them. For much of human history, matches made to continue vessel bloodlines automatically produced offspring, but with the advent of anti-conception, Deanna could go to the nearest drugstore and get a morning-after pill.

“You won’t be able to,” Ezekiel says. “Not without breaking your own soul. With my Grace inside Sam, the child will be part nephilim. Its Grace will attach to your soul, and if you tear it out, yours will shatter."

He bents forward to undo the button on her jeans, but she kicks him square in the jaw, inwardly apologizing to her little brother. But there is simply no way this is going to happen.

Ezekiel’s head snaps upwards, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Damn. Instead he returns to Sam’s duffel bag and gets some more rope out. For the first time in her life Deanna sees why people jump a little when confronted with Sam’s stature. He is big, he is trained, and his male body has no trouble pinning her legs down, tying them to the bed as well. She squirms, trying to find a weakness in the ropes, hands twisting to get at the knife. But with her spread-eagled position, she is as helpless as Sam had been when Death shoved his soul back inside.

Panic bubbles to the surface, but with the honed experience of a lifetime hunter she uses the sharp focus the fear gives her to focus on a solution.

“Genetics.”

If the angel can’t be overpowered, maybe he’ll listen to reason.

“The baby will have low IQ and all kinds of diseases, one lung or something. Brothers and sisters should never have children. The baby will probably die before it’s able to have kids,” she says, regurgitating every fact she has ever learned about inbreeding. Didn’t some royal family die out from that? But that was after generations. Whatever, if the angel has no idea of anti-conception, he probably doesn’t have a clue about history lessons humanity has learned. Then again, he’s been present for it.

Ezekiel doesn’t seem bothered by her argument. “If this child dies, you’ll have another one.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that Deanna is ready to trade whatever is going to happen next for another thirty years on the rack. She has lived through so much already, sacrificed everything, more than once, lost every single one of her friends. And now Heaven has decided that she needs to get raped by her own brother because she leads the lifestyle necessitated because of the host’s own inability to protect mankind from monsters. Maybe she is better off in Purgatory, where the rules and morality are clear. Kill or be killed. Black and white, not this horrible mess of grey, a few dots of white but mostly black.

Fury burns through her when the angel unbuttons her jeans, slips them down her thighs. He takes down her panties with the same motion. Of course she doesn’t lift her hips like she would’ve done with any other bed partner. But all she sees is Sam’s face, her brother’s callused fingers scratching past the scars on her legs. Ezekiel’s unable to slide the jeans down any further thanks to her spread legs, so he tears them off her, wringing a cry of pain from her as the material leaves rug burns on her body.

“Stay quiet, or you’ll wake Sam,” Ezekiel warns her once more.

Deanna clings on to the fury, because the alternative is sheer blind panic. She has no way to escape, no angel to call on, nobody to look for her apart from the one person in front of her. And he’s currently unaware of any threats to his sister.

When she was in Hell, it felt logical that the demons would use her for purposes like this. But she’d semi-trusted Ezekiel. And he wears Sam’s skin, uses Sam’s big hands to tug his own pants down. At least the demons had the excuse of being hell-spawn, but angels are supposed to be on her side, not … dicks, most of all not using Sam’s dick to create a baby that could tear her soul out.

Her breathing spins out of control when Ezekiel steps out of Sam’s shorts and climbs onto the bed, arms beside her chest, knees straddling her own. She has seen Sam naked before, has helped him in the bathroom when he was too injured to properly use the toilet. She’s even caught him in the act a few memorable times. She grew up with him, she is his _sister_ , he shouldn’t be leaning over her, his supernatural blue eyes roaming over her private area as if deciding how he would go about putting piece A into slot B when all he knows about it is that it involves interlocking genitals somehow.

“Ezekiel, don’t,” she pleads, hot tears gathering in her eyes. “Please don’t, I’ll find somebody, I’ll get Cas to give me a kid, just, don’t, not Sam. Please not Sam.”

She keeps on babbling promises, to settle down, to let Cas ride her until she is barefoot in the kitchen, but all Ezekiel does is remind her that she has to be quiet, he feels Sam waking up. He pauses for a moment, making sure that her brother slumbers on, hopefully dreaming of better things while his body desecrates Deanna. She watches as slowly Sam’s dick transforms from its flaccid state to stand at full attention. That is the level of control the angel has over her brother’s body, then. Could he stop Sam’s heart from beating as well?

Ezekiel has a neutral expression on his face when he guides his cock to Deanna’s entrance. She goes still when she feels him push inside, stretching her. She’s always liked looking at that first joining, sometimes marveling how her body can accept whatever a man threw at her, cockwise. But usually she’s had a bit of preparation, some lube, a tender or rough kiss to distract her.

Agonizingly slow Ezekiel pushes onwards until he can’t go any further. She is unprepared for this feeling of _wrongness_ singing through her entire body. She knows that it’s Ezekiel, but at the same time, it’s Sam. It’s always been Sam, her geeky younger brother. Her body accepts Ezekiel readily enough, and she doesn’t know why. She should have some form of defense, a barrier to keep the angel out. Her mind flies to the last time she had sex, another shade of blue eyes, but infinitely kinder to her. She should’ve gotten knocked up back then, they had all the right ingredients. During her ovulation period, without protection, a ‘thank whatever god is willing to hear us we survived the last hunt’ quickie. She even spooned a little afterwards, the fallen angel stroking her short hair. She had liked looking back then as well.

This time she presses her head into her pillow, eyes turned to the ceiling, hot tears escaping and dropping silently to the fabric. More come as Ezekiel pulls back and slams fully inside her, God, little Sammy has gotten big.

To her horror her body instinctively reacts, her legs twitching as she tries to wrap them around Sam, her hips tilting to change to a better angle. But apart from the heat between her legs she feels ice-cold, a bit distant from her body. This is definitely not happening, her life sucks, but not this bad. Never this bad.

She bites back a grunt as the angel sets a mechanical pace, her nearly dry vagina quickly burning through its juices until every thrust _hurts_. She plays dead, eyes refusing to stray from the ceiling. Because she’d see Sam, his dick disappearing inside her own body, the bored expression on his face as if this was no more interesting than looking for a stick insect in a forest. Ezekiel won’t care that he is busy devastating her relationship with her brother, her future, her very sanity.

Ezekiel makes no sound either, so there are just the soft, squishy sounds she usually so enjoys floating through the room. She has to bite back groans and grunts as the pain nears her threshold. She know her limits exactly thanks to over two hundred thousand hours of torture. She digs her nails into her skin to keep herself from crying out, but she manages a plea.

“Make him come,” she begs the angel. “Stop it, please!”

She doesn’t know if Ezekiel listens to her or if whatever wet dream he’s having Sam dream reaches its conclusion, but she feels wetness coat her inner walls and the last thrust goes a lot smoother. Ezekiel momentarily loses control of Sam’s body as alien sensations of orgasm overwhelm him, and Deanna fears that his blue eyes will fade away, leaving a groggy Sam wondering why his dick is buried inside his sister.

Her brother’s big body smothers her, and she can’t help but let her eyes flit to the shaggy brown hair. She smells that he once again has used her shampoo, she refuses to notice the smell of sex. Ezekiel recovers quickly, pulling out of her with all of the awkwardness of a virgin, unsure what to do now. He pauses before reaching over her and yanking her pillow from underneath her head. Deanna utters a sound of protest as the angel lifts her hips and shoves the pillow underneath her, angling her pelvis. She remembers reading about that in a women’s magazine while she waited in the ER. It’s supposed to help the sperm reach the egg easier.

More tears burn in her throat and spill from her eyes as she thinks about the future. She doesn’t doubt that the angel knows (smells?) that she’s currently ovulating. Even so, miscarriages happen, and she’ll break if she has to go through this again. She’s not sure she isn’t broken already, because her breathing hasn’t slowed down and she feels lightheaded, the pain in her vagina throbbing a heated beat.

If she loses the baby, she needs to jump Castiel’s bones quick enough to appease whatever’s left of the heavenly host. Hell, how is she going to explain her pregnancy in the first place? Sam knows that she hasn’t had the time to sleep with someone in a while. So she either needs to… she needs to…

“Fuck you,” she says with such venom in her voice, around the tears caught in her throat. Alastair would be proud. “I will find a way to pull out your wings, make you human and then skin you alive. I’ll laugh as I pour salt down your wounds and carve out your tongue. I’ll make you eat your own fingers, I’ll squish your eyeballs underneath my feet and you will thank me when I finally reach inside your chest, pierce your lungs with your own ribs, and I’ll watch as you drown in your blood.”

Ezekiel doesn’t seem that fazed by her threats, but Deanna means every word. This angel, this fucking angel has ruined whatever little comfort she had left, the ability to look at her own brother and _know_ that at least one person has her back, (almost) no questions asked.

Instead of responding, Ezekiel crawls off the bed and pulls his pants back up. He sits next to Deanna and puts a hand on her belly. She tries to squirm away, but his grip threatens to bruise and she once again goes limp.

Finally her breathing calms down, but the throbbing remains. The ice-cold sensation she felt before now begins to come from outside as Ezekiel sits there, his hand on her belly while her lower half remains exposed. She feels her wrists and ankles tingle as rope burns make themselves known, but the cool night air makes her shiver. When a particularly violent shiver passes through her system, the angel finally notices.

Without a word he reaches over and pulls the blanket over her, resuming his vigil beside her, one hand on her belly.

“Untie me,” Deanna demands, spurring fresh tears cascading down her face. She can’t seem to stop. “I’m losing feeling in my hands.”

“Your brother still needs me,” Ezekiel says, jumping ahead two sentences in the conversation. “I will free you, but your brother will come to harm if you do anything besides lie there-“

Ezekiel suddenly stops. He gets up, rips the ropes binding her wrists from the bed and staggers to Sam’s. With some trouble Deanna gathers her hands underneath her and turns to her side awkwardly, her legs still tied to the bed frame. Like she has guessed, Sam emerges not long after Ezekiel has dropped the body on the bed.

She loathes the smacking sound Sam makes with his mouth as he stretches and yawns. It sounds just like soppy sex.

“What time is it?” Sam asks.

Deanna doesn’t answer, pretends that she’s asleep. She hopes that her brother won’t notice the smell lingering in the room, her jeans ripped in half hanging off the desk chair. She hopes that the ropes aren’t visible in the dark room, that her brother won’t wonder why his dick is so sensitive.

But above all, she has the terrifying, dark hope that she can carry the baby to full term.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no intention of continuing this until I watched the season 9 finale. Then I did. Enjoy!

When Sam caught her throwing up for the fourth night in a row the jig was up. To say it came as a shock to her little brother was putting it mildly.

“Congratu...lations?” Sam said slowly, no doubt noticing Deanna's _I'm trapped and gonna shoot something soon_ look. She bent over the toilet one more time and heard Sam rummage around for a washcloth.

“Is it Cas's?” Sam asked as he handed her the cloth when she was done. Deanna gave a non-committal shrug. _No, it's yours_.

“I think so,” she said.

“What're you gonna do?”

_I want to get rid of this parasite._ “I dunno.” _I already feel shitty and still have seven months to go_.

“And you're sure you're...”

“Pretty sure.” Deanna got up from her hug-the-toilet position and stretched her back. Sam's eyes snapped to her belly and she knew that she was showing nothing at all. Not yet, at least. “Skipped my period, I'm damn tired, plus I'm tossing my cookies left and right all night. Isn't that just supposed to happen in the morning?”

Behind those brown-green eyes she saw that formidable intelligence at work. She hoped they wouldn't flash to blue, but for now Sam was in control. He was probably imagining all kinds of scenarios incorporating babies and children. There was an interrogation coming, she was sure of it. Did you drink any beer lately? Did you get wasted this weekend? Had any shots of whiskey? Damn, if she could have, she would have. But Ezekiel would've come out and smitten the beer out of her hand. She'd even abstained from coffee... mostly.

“Let's talk somewhere more comfortable,” Sam said, heading out of the bathroom. Deanna wiped her face one last time, took a minute to brush her teeth but then she couldn't hold it off any longer. Once more she'd have to lie to her brother, tell him she wanted to keep it of her own free will. Team Free Will, right?

Sam sat at the table they usually sat at, having poured her a glass of water. His laptop and books were shoved aside so he had his full attention on her.

“So... what _are_ you going to do?” he asked again, the hardest question of them all. Deanna sat down and grabbed the glass, taking a swig before replying. She was a good liar, she could lie to God if she had to. Even so it was hard to force the words out, because it meant driving another wig between them. She loathed Ezekiel for doing this to her.

“I want to keep it,” she said. Sam raised his eyebrows but kept quiet until she could lay down some logic for this decision. “This might be the only chance I've got... And. Well. We've killed so many people, Sammy. I kinda want to bring some life _back_ into the world.

Sam looked down, his eyes shifting to his hands. No doubt envisioning the rivers of blood those had caused.

“But I am going to put him or her up for adoption,” Deanna continued. Sam's head snapped back up and he frowned.

“What? Why?”

Deanna gestured around her, at herself and him. “Look at this. Look at us. You think this is a good environment for a kid? Cas is out half the time, I'm out the other half, all of us have died at least once, and the next time it could be permanent.”

“But it's your _kid_ ,” Sam argued back. He also gestured, but towards the door leading to the outside world. “You know what's out there. You _know_ that your child is going to be a target, just like us. And you wanna dump that on some unsuspecting... civilians?”

“So we can raise the kid into a hunting life? Get it to learn how to disassemble a weapon before it can ride a bike?”

Sam looked Deanna straight in the eyes and said: “You're not Dad.”

Deanna grasped the glass tighter and almost wished it would shatter. But the Men of Letters had sturdy glasses hiding in the cupboards, so her knuckles just turned white.

“No, I'm not,” she said in a deceptively calm tone that could've fooled anyone but her brother. She was pissed and getting more pissed off by the second. “But I know how easy it is to slip into that life. To think it's necessary. Look at how many times we dragged Cas back in. Emanuel was building a life out there, and we swooped in and took him. Do you really think we can keep the hunting life from the kid? We _suck_ at taking care of people.”

Sam looked a bit hurt, but even now Deanna knew that that big, logic brain of his went through his memories and came to the same conclusion. No matter how hard they fought, how many times they got hurt or sacrificed things or people – in the end, there were just two people left. Him and her.

“And you think the baby's safer out there?” Sam asked in a true calm voice. Deanna nodded. Sam then ramped up the volume again to drive his next point home. “You really think that the baby is safer in a world where every demon will want to possess the kid, where the brothers and sisters of vampires and werewolves will hunt down and kill a defenseless Winchester, that she'll live longer with angels coercing him or her to say 'yes' to things the kid won't even understand?”

Deanna had thought of this argument before. Hell, she'd planned it out a little even, already knowing what objections Sam was going to throw up. Ugh, throwing up. She still felt a little queasy. Stupid baby.

“The kid won't be any safer with us either. Or did you think that Ellen _wanted_ Jo to die?”

That one stung, Deanna could read it in Sam's face, the way his pupils shrunk, his eyes dropped down, his shoulders sagged. Losing Ellen and Jo... Jesus, was she tearing up? Stupid hormones messing with her already. If she became a weepy mess she could fall prey to something so easily. Damn it, _focus_!

“The kid will be safer with us than without us, Deanna. I mean, we were safer with Bobby than alone, right?”

“Yeah, but-” _But the kid will look like you, nothing like Cas. And you'll find out, because that always happens in my life._ Deanna looked Sam straight in the eyes. “I'm not fit to be a mother – I don't _want_ to be a mother. Taking care of Ben was fine and all, but that boy was eleven years old already.”

“You are fit to be a mother,” Sam said in a strangely flat tone. “You raised me, after all.”

Well, shit. Deanna couldn't deny that. Nevertheless she waved a hand to sweep that argument off the table. “Dad did the heavy lifting – or did you really think I changed your diaper when I was four years old?”

“I wouldn't put it beyond Dad,” Sam said. “But don't ever tell yourself you wouldn't be a good mom, Deanna. Because you'd rock.”

Deanna tapped the glass on the table and frowned at the books lying on the table. “Fine. But that doesn't mean that I _want_ to become a 'mommy'. I'd have to give up pretty much everything I do to stay here and take care of the baby. I can't just up and go take care of a case. And you know how good the both of us are at settling down – sooner or later we get dragged back in, kicking and screaming. But this time there'll be a kid involved, and we can't pretend to be FBI agents when I've got a toddler on my hip.”

“So we take it easy for a couple of years, after we've helped the angels back to Heaven that is. But then I think we've deserved a break. And it wouldn't be just us – I think the father will take up a parent role.”

_Yes, the father is already arguing with me to become a stay-at-home-don't-hunt-mom. The baby will look like you and you'll tear yourself apart over it, because with each passing month it'll look more like you. And you'll wonder._

She'd better nip that in the bud before Sam assumed it was Cas.

“I'm not entirely sure that it _is_ Cas's,” she said. “I know you don't want to know about my sex life, just... don't assume things.”

Sam looked dumbstruck at that. True, she had been involved with Cas on more than one occasion, but there _had_ been others. Mostly to relieve stress and get her mind off things, but Sam had seen her leave with other men. Not often lately, but someone else could have been the father. It was plausible, if unlikely.

“Right,” Sam then said, wiping the look off his face before he got back into the argument. “If you keep the kid, the kid deserves its mom.”

Deanna had the urge to grab a book and bonk Sam on the head. “Fuck you, Sammy. You know as well as I do that sometimes the biological parent isn't the best parent.”

_I wish Bobby was still here. He would've loved the bunker and he would've known what to do. Or at least kick me in the ass and tell me to figure it out myself._

But she knew what she had to do. She had to give the baby up, let someone else shoulder the burden of child-rearing. She had had enough burdens on her shoulders already, and taking care of a bastard inbred child was too much. Maybe the fetus wouldn't develop that well at all and she'd have a baby in her hands for five minutes before it died. And Ezekiel had made it quite clear that he'd just try again and again until she gave birth to a healthy kid.

Sam had that half-shock thing going on, because _Deanna_ had admitted that Dad hadn't been a good dad. But he plowed through the shock and just kept on trucking with all of his stupid arguments.

“Deanna, have you thought about-”

She was done. Just fucking _done_ . She got up so forcefully her chair got shoved backwards a foot. She slammed her hands on the table and leaned over it menacingly. “I don't _want_ to take care of this fucking baby!”

“Then why the hell are you keeping it?” Sam asked, his butt still planted on the chair but his scowl was real and there was this frustration behind his voice. The guy wanted, nay, deserved a family of his own, and Deanna denied him yet again.

Her argument from before, to bring some life back into the world, suddenly sounded weak. It was a hippie thought and she'd be damned if she began to wear flower crowns and play the guitar during her pregnancy.

“Because-”

“If you won't take care of the baby, I will,” Sam interrupted her. “I'll adopt the kid and raise it myself.”

Deanna felt the urge to take three of those solid-looking books lying on the table and whack Sam upside the head. She felt the urge to, to-

She turned around and made a dash for the bathroom. She got there just in time to relive her last meal. Sam traipsed after her, handed her another washcloth when she was done. Deanna didn't feel so good. Sweat covered her brow and she was tired. The baby sucked all of the energy out of her and she hoped that it wasn't her soul that was getting sucked out inch by inch. Carrying an angel's child could be dangerous to her. Although, they did want to keep her alive so she could continue the line. It wouldn't make sense to kill her off after her first pregnancy, because the kid might not even make it to adulthood, seeing as it was a Winchester with a target painted on his or her back.

“I can't believe I didn't notice before,” Sam said. Deanna once again brushed her teeth and answered around her tooth brush.

“I just found out myself.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes, spit and repeated herself. “I haven't even had a proper pregnancy test... But I'm pretty damn sure. I rarely miss a period.”

Sam's seemed torn between pulling a face at too-much-information and the need to get in the car and drive to the nearest drugstore to get a pee-stick.

“I have an idea,” Deanna said, waving her toothbrush around and getting a fleck of toothpaste onto the mirror. “First pregnancies often don't stick-” _Although Ezekiel will make damn sure this one will_ \- “so how about we shelve the discussion about adoption until we're sure that the baby will survive the first twelve weeks?”

Sam looked far from happy about that, but he conceded that she had a point. Deanna knew that she was going to find newspaper clippings and articles about the horrors of adoption at some point, though. Research was Sam's life and he was damn good at it.

“Fine. But you are going to take care of your body, get an echo when you're twelve weeks along and we're only doing hunts-”

“No.” Deanna's interruption was loud and sudden. She knew she looked like shit, but even so she still had the authority of the older sibling written all across her face. “You don't get to treat me any different just because I'm pregnant. It's my body, my life, my soul. We are going to go about our normal business, I will visit a doctor when I see fit, and you will keep your nose out of any health-related business. Just like we've always done.”

It was Sam's turn to be Done with this discussion. “You know what? Fine! You can drink yourself and the baby to death, we'll go hunt vampires and skinwalkers, and they'll gut you the moment they find out you're pregnant. Remember Cindy?Lilith's chef? She'll _eat_ your uterus. But sure, let's go on our normal hunts, let's not make any room for injuries or pregnancies. Hey, remember that time we let you in on a case while you had a broken leg? No? Because Bobby and I looked out for you!”

Sam turned around on his heels and stomped out of the bathroom, leaving a slightly-stunned Deanna behind. Damn it all, he had a point. She was already so tired every afternoon and evening. If she had to figure out a way to get rid of Bloody Mary or realize that she was caught in the dreamland of a Djinni while her head was fuzzy with sleep, she was going to die. Reflexes were also useful to have in angel fights, because those sneaky bastards were quick.

Shit. She'd have to tell Cas as well, if he didn't figure it out the second he saw her. Deanna hung her head low and took a deep breath.

_The next seven months are going to suck._


	3. Chapter 3

To call it a 'baby bump' was a disgrace. It was more of a baby hill, maybe even a baby mountain. The outie was the metaphorical flag in that case, although it was hidden beneath a layer of plaid. The pregnancy jeans looked uncomfortable, stretched out across the lower belly as they were. 

Deanna had made as small as possible modifications to her wardrobe, but she was one of the women who grew enormous bellies, making it look like she was carrying twins instead of a single baby. So even she had to cave to wearing the occasional empire-waisted flowery top, because that was all she could find for a decent price.

Right now she wore one of her usual plaid shirts, open of course, with a black t-shirt with room for that enormous pregnant belly. 

The black hid the blood, but the plaid didn't. The blood was beginning to brown already, although the cuts across her face were still an angry red. The stab wound had missed the womb, but it sure had hit her  chest . To slowly bleed out was a bad way to die, because Deanna had known that she was going to leave Sammy alone, again. 

And Sammy then had to face a terrible dilemma. The baby was thirty-five weeks old. Old enough for its lungs to have developed, not old enough to be born yet. With Deanna's cooling body in his hands he had made the decision not to cut her womb open to save the kid. 

Crowley knew that he was going to have endless fun torturing the moose with that decision. He steepled his fingers and kept on studying the pregnant, dead woman. 

She had grown her hair out a bit, probably because for the last two months she'd been mostly on bed rest. He could see her ankles were swollen and she had definitely grown a cup size. He cocked his head as he felt Sam trying to summon him. But since he was already on the premises, he wasn't forced to appear in that damn pentagram. 

Deanna hadn't had an easy pregnancy, he knew. More than once she'd been green around the gills when he rode with her and her hormones made her forget some basic things. Once he'd been witness to her forgetting Metatron's name and for the whole duration of the conversation referred to the angel as ' beard guy'. Hilarious from a distance. 

But he'd seen the grace growing inside the kid, and it didn't belong to Castiel. That had taken a bit of digging, but Gadreel had obliged quickly enough, killed off the prophet and enabled Crowley to make the connection. 

Getting raped by her own brother hadn't left a visible mark on Deanna, but it had left its marks on her soul. He could almost see the little dead pixels of sin on her soul if he squinted. The fact that Gadreel had scared her into keeping the child was a feat in of itself, because the Winchester he knew would have ripped the fetus out herself with a dull knife if she had to. Unless-

Sam tried to summon him again. 

A baby's soul was a different beast altogether. It wasn't bound by original sin, so when a baby died in the womb, the soul returned to Heaven. It had had no life, so there were no separate heavens for the unborn, but they got to experience endless colors and sounds and lights like the most heavy acid trip they'd never been on. That was all they could comprehend, after all. 

Any other baby's soul would have made its way to Heaven by now, because a kid can't survive without its mother for very long. Certainly not long enough for Sam to make his way back to the bunker and carry Deanna up to her room. The baby itself had died long ago, but its soul... 

“Open your eyes, Deanna,” Crowley said with a smile on his face. It was going to be interesting experiencing the effect of a demon's taint on a nephilim soul.

Inside the womb, the baby opened its black eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I got thinking about bloodlines, about Dean being the perfect vessel, and the fact that he doesn’t have kids. And because I’ve been reading genderbender fics, I thought about what kind of consequences this would have for a female version. Add in Ezekiel’s still mysterious role, and my mind turned to dark places.


End file.
